Untitled Christmas Fic
by Zion Angel
Summary: Christmas hasn't been a happy time for either of them for many years. But she's determined to change that. - A slightly sad, somewhat sappy, highly smutty and very, very late Christmas fic. Tony/Pepper


An unedited, untitled, (slightly) sad, (somewhat) sappy, (highly) smutty and very, very late Christmas fic. Enjoy. :)

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(So far) Untitled Christmas Fic

By ZionAngel

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Apparently, even the most professional of men can be turned into geeky fanboys when Tony Stark comes into the picture.

The temporary driver she hired from the service company came with the best recommendations not just for being safe and qualified, but for maintaining his professionalism even when servicing the most famous of celebrities. But as Pepper is learning, there's a big difference between _celebrity_ and _superhero_. Because now the driver is barely containing his excitement as they sit together in the grounded airplane, waiting for the amazing Iron Man (she swears she'll punch him if he calls Tony that again) to make his way back to New York. He's supposed to arrive soon, but so far, there's no sign of him.

She hopes Happy is home with his family and having a better time than she is right now, making one phone call after another while simultaneously trying to organize and finish a dozen different documents and files on her laptop, all in the desperate hope that they can get all these new contracts agreed upon and finished by the end of the day.

She hears the sound of repulsors rushing toward the plane just as she hangs up with the Chairman of the Board. As she stands, the driver becomes annoyingly jumpy, and she's really not in the mood right now. She pulls the sandwich she bought for Tony from the galley refrigerator, and practically shoves it into the driver's hands. "Please take this down and make sure the car is ready and waiting to go." She ignores the fallen look on his face, and glares at him ever so slightly until he backs toward the door and leaves.

When she makes it into the newly-built compartment at the back of the plane, she finds the bots quickly removing Tony's suit. "Hurry up," she says tersely, not willing to waste any time. "We have to get going as soon as possible."

"What's the rush, Potts?" he asks, looking a little tired.

She sighs, trying not to take her frustration out on him when he doesn't deserve it. "We're painfully close to ironing out all the new contracts. If we don't get them finished today it means we all have to come back on Friday and finish them, which would ruin everyone's vacation plans. I'd like to try to avoid that, if you don't mind, so please hurry with your shower and put on the suit I laid out for you."

"What vacations?" he presses as he steps free of the suit and into the main cabin.

She sighs, less adamant about not taking out her frustration on him. "Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, Tony. Everyone was expecting to be done by now, and they made their holiday plans accordingly, but unfortunately your mission has set things back a bit. So, please, just hurry up." He eyes her for only a moment before he heads off toward the shower, without another word passing between them.

It's not until they're in the car, halfway to Stark Industries, that she realizes that he seemed sad when mentioned the date.

---

It's 8:47 p.m. when the meeting finally ends, but she practically melts into her chair at the relief that it's all over. She's not entirely sure how they managed it - the whole day is one long blur at this point - but somehow, the contracts are fully negotiated, signed and notarized, and they can start their new manufacturing deals in January. As the rest of the board members, their assistants and lawyers slowly file out of the room, Pepper lags behind, stretching languidly, finally able to relax.

"Let's go, Potts." Tony's voice jolts her out of the half-sleep she didn't realize she'd fallen into, leaning back in her chair. She turns and finds him standing in the doorway, her coat draped over his arm.

"Sorry…." She tries to shake the sleep from her mind and quickly shoves her things into her briefcase. She gives Tony a small smile when he helps her into her coat, and then they're heading toward the elevator, reaching it just in time.

"Thank God that's done," she hears someone mutter, and she begins to button up her coat.

"My daughter would have killed me if we weren't able to go visit my parents in Chicago," another person announces. "We have a flight first thing in the morning."

"What are you doing for Christmas?"

She shoves her hands into her gloves, feeling a bit sad as she hears a few people discuss their plans. But she tries to ignore the fact that she has no plans, that she really has nothing to look forward to this year, the way they do.

"I have about thirty people coming over for Christmas dinner."

She glances over at Tony then, and is almost shocked by the look in his eyes. He's facing the door, so no one can see his face but her - he may not even be aware that she can see - but she can't remember the last time she saw him this… she struggles for a moment to find the word - it isn't _sad_, that's not quite right, he just looks… depressed.

A moment later she remembers the way he looked in the car earlier, just after she had reminded him that tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and then she understands that look, understands what memory he associates with this time of year.

She fights to keep from reaching out and grasping his hand, because she's not sure if he would appreciate the gesture, and she knows he wouldn't want her to do it with everyone watching.

They make it to the waiting Rolls Royce outside, and sit in silence for a few miles as she tries to decide what to say. Because saying nothing isn't an option. Finally, she swallows hard and dives right in.

"We should do something for Christmas." The way he stiffens up, glances at her out of the corner of his eye when she says this is almost enough to deter her, but she's been through too much with him to lose her nerve so easily. "I don't think I've ever seen you so much as put up a wreath in the entire time I've known you." His silence continues, and he turns his head farther away from her. "It would be a bit of a challenge, but I think I could whip up a decent party by tomorrow night if you want, or we could go to someone else's -"

"No."

She does shrink back a bit this time, and for a moment thinks this was a horrible idea - the reminder of his parents' death on the thirteenth of December, 1991 (a Friday, which must just make the irony that much worse) can't do anything but poison Christmas for him, but she feels compelled to try to take away just a bit of his pain. "It doesn't have to be anything fancy," she continues, her voice a little less sure. "It could just be a little visit to catch up with some of your old friends out here. Christmas is supposed to be a happy time…. I know you haven't really celebrated it in a long time -"

"I haven't celebrated it since I spent Christmas of '91 in a suite at the Plaza Hotel, _alone_, watching TV and eating room service." He nearly barks the words at her, and she truly does shrink back this time, moving as far to the other side of the seat as she can. "Forgive me if this isn't exactly a joyous time of year for me." The words are dripping with sarcasm and anger, and she doesn't have it in her to say another word the whole way home, even to apologize like she knows she should.

He won't look at her, even when they arrive back at the penthouse, acts like she's not even there, and he goes straight to his own room when they go inside. This fiasco, on top of everything else, makes her completely exhausted, and she barely manages to eat a bowl of cereal before heading to her own room, and passing out.

---

He's sitting at the kitchen table, having cereal and orange juice and reading the paper when he sees her next. The sound of her bare feet slowly padding toward him does not put him at ease as they normally would. Instead, he feels himself tense up as she approaches, considerably more so when she sits down beside him, not saying a word.

He tries to keep eating as though he's unfazed by her presence, to pretend to read the paper, but the possibility of choking on his cereal is just real enough to make him worried. He wishes she would either leave or just start up their usual morning conversation already - anything as long as she doesn't just keep sitting there, making him worry that she'll force him to remember painful memories again. Shouldn't she know better by now, know that that's at the top of a very short list of things he doesn't like to talk about?

When she does speak - as if she had to work up the courage to do so - her voice is quiet.

"I'm sorry that I upset you yesterday. I know how hard… these things have always been for you, and… I shouldn't have pushed the issue so much." He feels his muscles relax considerably. Pepper sighs, seeming to search for something to say next. "You're not the only one who has a hard time at Christmas, you know," she finally whispers, though her voice isn't accusatory, doesn't chide him for being selfish; it's sympathetic. "I always loved it when I was younger, but the last several years..." He finally looks at her, hesitantly, when she trails off. He has to admit, he's curious. "Things just haven't been the same. Doesn't feel the same. For some reason, no matter what I do, who I visit, what parties I go to, what movies I watch, how much I decorate or... It doesn't matter. It just doesn't feel like it used to." She sighs, and meets his eyes. "I know it's not the same as your situation, not at all, but... I just don't want you to go the rest of your life dreading what should and could be a happy time."

The look in her eyes is hesitant, apologetic, pleading, as if she's seeking forgiveness.

"Get some breakfast," he finally murmurs, and turns his attention back to his own food. "Coffee's in the pot." It's the best he can do at the moment.

She moves away from the table, and he listens to the quiet sounds she makes in the kitchen before she returns. They eat in silence for a while, slowly relaxing into each other's presence again.

"We should go to dinner tonight," she finally suggests, once they're done eating.

He chokes a little on the remainder of his juice. "I don't know, I -"

"It's not Christmas Eve dinner, Tony," she clarifies, her voice soft. "Just dinner, two old friends and co-workers celebrating the successful completion of a massive business deal and enjoying each other's company." She smiles, and despite everything, that smile melts a little of his resolve, just like it always does. "And besides, you haven't eaten a decent meal since you got back from you mission."

He's not horribly thrilled at the idea. But then again, it's not the worst suggestion he's heard lately, and he really could use a good meal - and the company to go with it. So he nods, just barely. "Okay."

---

When she suggested dinner, she hadn't counted on quite so many people wishing them a Merry Christmas by the time they were seated in the restaurant with their drinks in hand and their orders taken. But she does her best to keep Tony in good spirits, to distract him from whatever painful memories might try to come up, and from his relaxed posture and calm expression, she thinks she's doing a decent job.

So they talk like they always do, casually and about whatever comes to mind. When the food arrives, they enjoy it and speak between bites, leaning in toward one another, laughing and smiling comfortably. It's not until they've been sitting together for over an hour, their plates nearly picked clean, that the mood changes, that he becomes hesitant and something darkens his eyes. It worries her, but she doesn't push him, and lets him work up the nerve to speak on his own.

"Why aren't you back with your family?" He stares at some point across the room as he asks this.

She figures it's best to let him guide the conversation, and she answers honestly. "A lot of people weren't able to come this year, with the economy and everything, and I saw most of them back at Thanksgiving. And anyway, like I said… it's just not the same as it used to be." They fall into silence for a few minutes after that, and the waiter comes to take their plates.

"What do you mean?"

She didn't realize she'd fallen into a bit of a trance, staring at the fireplace across the room. "Hmm?"

"You keep saying it's not the same as it used to be," he repeats, his voice a bit steadier than it had been before. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, I don't know, it just... _felt_ good. Felt happy. Between the music, the gifts, the food, everybody coming over all the time, and the decorations, it just felt like Christmas from about Thanksgiving until I went back to school in January." She shrugs. "But the last few years... I don't know what's different. Maybe it's me." She falls silent for a while, thinking back to all the Christmases when she was young, with her family in Oregon. "The decorations were always my favorite thing. My parents would spend all of Thanksgiving weekend putting up the lights outside, and the electric bill was always huge but it was worth it. The whole house was so beautiful." She can't help but smile a little, feeling nostalgic at the memory. Her mind wanders back to their house, and she loses herself to the thoughts for a bit.

By the time she comes back to reality and looks up at Tony, she has no way of knowing how long his face has been clouded by that depressed look again. "Tony? Are you okay?"

He's staring down at the table, and it takes him almost a full minute to speak. "The housekeepers usually did most of the decorating for us, but... We always did the tree together."

He trails off into another long period of silence, becoming even more morose than he was before. She wants to ask what's wrong, but she knows it wouldn't help things any, and he'll probably tell her soon enough anyway.

"We had just finished decorating the tree the night we went out," he finally explains, and she instantly knows exactly what he's talking about, and it makes her feel physically sick. "I haven't been back to that house since we left that night."

And that knowledge just makes her feel even worse, because she knows that as horrible as it is, it must be true. "Not… not at all?" she manages to ask. "Not even to get your things…?"

He shakes his head. "When they discharged me from the hospital I just had one of the butlers bring me some clothes and stuff. Eventually just hired some people to pack everything up for me and sell it."

"I'm sorry."

"Stupid," he mutters a while later, sitting up straighter and shaking his head as if it'll clear away the pain. He tries to act like it's nothing, like he's fine, but he's not fooling anyone - least of all her. "I should have gone back at least once, but…." Then his eyes fall closed, and he whispers very quietly, "I miss it."

She doesn't say anything, neither of them do, for a long time. It doesn't take long for an idea to dawn on her, but it takes much longer for her to say it, because she doesn't know if it's anything even resembling a good idea. At the same time, though, she knows she owes it to him to at least make the suggestion.

"It's not too late." He looks up at her. "The building is still there, your parents' old penthouse is still there. I'm sure the current owners wouldn't mind letting you see it." She wishes she could read his face, because she doesn't have the faintest clue what's going on in his head. "I think it would help."

It feels like it takes forever, but eventually, he nods his head.

---

He surprises himself, when he slides into the waiting car and has no trouble whatsoever remembering the address. He just tells the driver in a slow, even voice, and once it's entered into the GPS system, they pull away from the curb and start driving. He even remembers every turn, every street that will take them there.

He's never driven within at least two miles of this place in the last seventeen years.

When they arrive and step out of the car, he vaguely registers the sound of Pepper's voice telling the driver to stay close. She follows him inside - or maybe he follows her, he can't really tell - and he asks the concierge, almost robotically, to call up to the top floor penthouse.

"Oh, you two are quite late," the man says, smiling. Before they can ask, he adds, "The Party started an hour and a half ago. But don't worry - you can go straight up, I'm sure they'll be waiting for you."

He feels Pepper's soft hand slip into his as she thanks the man, and she guides him toward the elevator. He feels grateful that he wasn't recognized, that they have an easy excuse to go inside that might completely remove the need to speak to anyone at all. He's not sure how well he would do, if he had to make pleasantries and small talk and explain why he suddenly wanted to see the place after seventeen years.

He's more or less okay when they first step into the elevator - nervous, yes, and upset and sad - but mostly okay. But as the elevator rises, floor by floor to the very top, something gets worse - the anxiety or the pain or the fear or the sadness, he doesn't know what. He just knows that by the time the doors open again, he's nearly panicked and wishing he had never agreed to this and his mind is screaming at him to just hit the "close door" button and head straight back down to the lobby and go home and drink as much alcohol as it takes to make everything stop -

And the only thing that makes him step forward, out of the elevator and toward the door, is Pepper's small, gentle hand; his only source of strength. She guides him forward, pushes open the unlocked door, and leads him inside.

He lifts his eyes, stares around at the foyer, the marble floors that used to be parquet, the oversized table with the overly-fragrant flowers that would have made his father sneeze endlessly, the gaudy paintings his mother never would have allowed to remain in the house for a second - and the familiarity of it all is nearly enough to overwhelm him.

Slowly he moves, his hand slipping from hers as he makes his way further into the penthouse, remembering every step and turn and corner. They slip past the talking, laughing, drinking, dancing guests unnoticed, moving around the living room with the Christmas tree, decorated in white and gold, (it should have been - used to be - red and green and silver) and filled with sleek, modern furniture. Pepper follows him past the kitchen - completely remodeled, and everything moved to a different place. They go further, and suddenly they are alone, in a part of the home where not guests are allowed.

She follows him, heels clicking quietly, to the master bedroom, his parents' old room. He remembers the exact placement of every piece of furniture, and the pattern of the last two bedspreads they had. The layout was much better back then, not so cramped and over-stuffed the way it is now.

He knows what room comes next, the next door down the hall, his father's office. Nearly as big as the master bedroom - bigger maybe, he could never quite tell with all the clutter of papers on every flat surface. Or maybe he was always too mesmerized by the fact that his father could immediately locate any piece of paper (even if it was buried in a pile an inch thick) to notice the size of the room. It's a library now, too organized, and too bare.

The real library - his mother's library, and her piano room - is now filled with huge canvases, old and well-used drop-cloths on the floor, cans of paint and brushes everywhere, the built-in bookshelves stacked high with supplies. And maybe his mother, the concert pianist and artist at heart, might approve of that. He doesn't, though.

His old room always felt small to him (he was twelve or so when he finally understood that it was huge by most kids' standards) maybe because there were always a hundred different pieces of circuitry and gadgets and clothing covering most of the floor. Now, though, it just feels small because it's stacked high with boxes, a glorified closet.

He stands in the center of the room for a while, moonlight streaming in through the windows, casting shadows that made the boxes that much more ugly. It's good to be back - he's glad he's here, and he doesn't regret it, not quite, it's just… he almost feels worse now. Sadder, more depressed. Everything that once was, everything that some small part of him had hoped to find, is gone. Seeing this place like this, the images of the last few minutes pushing their way in beside old memories, only drives home the facts of what he's lost.

He hears heeled footsteps coming closer, stopping beside him, just out of his field of vision. He'd almost forgotten she was here, and for what it's worth, he's glad for her support.

"I know this is hard, Tony, but..." He feels those petite fingers wrap around his arm, the sensation dampened by layers of fabric. "You can't keep fighting to get the old Christmas back. It won't work, it just... It can never be that way again."

He wonders if this is really meant to cheer him up, but just her presence is comforting, either way.

"But that doesn't mean you can't find something else that will make you just as happy." And there's something in her voice then, some hesitation or fear or anticipation, a tenderness she's always shown to him that is completely new and different. So he turns to her, wondering, and searching her eyes to understand that voice. What he sees isn't what he expected, isn't something he's ever seen in her eyes before. Some wall dissolves away, lets him in further than he's ever been allowed, draws him in and welcomes him. And then her tiny bit of hesitation falls away, and she speaks again. "Some_one_ else that can make you happy." He searches even deeper into her eyes, and suddenly he understands exactly what she means, knows what she feels and what she's offering to him.

He turns to her, standing so close and letting himself drown in those beautiful eyes. He raises a hand and gently cups her cheek, reveling in the soft warmth of her skin. He watches her eyes drift shut as he caresses the side of her face softly, moving closer and pulling her in -

The loud laughter and stumbling footsteps of a fairly drunken couple startle them, pulling their attention to the open door. The people soon pass by, never seeing Tony and Pepper, but when the moment passes, he realizes that they can't do anything here.

"Let's get out of here."

---

Her hand is locked tightly with his from the moment they leave that room. They stay together as she calls the driver, as they descend in the elevator, and through the agonizingly long car ride home. She's going nearly out of her mind with anticipation and desire and lust, her lips tingling for relief that pursing them together won't give, her heart racing, her body begging for relief she can't get just yet.

Just as strong as her body's desire, though, is her heart's elation, that so many months, years, of wanting and wishing could be so easily resolved in an instant. That such openness, such honestly and vulnerability could do so much for them, bring them so close together if they just _let_ it is a startling idea.

And the look in his eyes, the gentle touch of his fingers back there in the penthouse…. She had wondered before, hoped and prayed and worried and feared the potential truth so much that she never dared to say a word, but now… now there is not a single doubt in her mind or heart as to what he feels, or how strongly.

When they reach the penthouse, his breathing has the slow, deep rhythm of false control, and his hand is impossibly tight around hers. Their eyes meet only once as they get out of the car, and there's some unspoken agreement of silence between them, some understanding that if they speak now, they could break whatever spell has fallen over them, lose their confidence and this chance. So they don't speak a word as they go inside, go up the elevator, and as he shuts and locks the door behind him.

She can't help but stare when he turns back to her, finally able to just _look_ at him the way she wants to, without fighting down her emotions and desires or pretending them away. And she's _so_ wet already that the way he looks into her eyes, makes her feel like he's boring straight down into her and touching her soul almost sends her to her knees. But then he's there, with his hands on her hips, rubbing little circles, keeping her steady, and close. He leans in slowly now, slips his hand to the back of her neck this time, and just barely brushes his lips against hers, like he's testing the feel, or maybe savoring it.

And _God_ it feels so good, and she gives the kiss more pressure, feeling the heat and softness of his lips against hers, and just a split second later pressing her body flush against his.

They remove clothes slowly, when they finally start to move - coats, then scarves and jackets, shirts and pants all falling abandoned to the floor, shoes kicked off, leaving a trail from the front door all the way into Tony's bedroom. She's clad in only her lacy blue bra and panty set when they make it to the bedroom, and he isn't much better off in his boxers and t-shirt. He fumbles with the control panel on the wall, struggling, and he only takes his eyes off her when he can't find the dial for the gas fireplace, and the dimmer for the light in the corner. He adjusts both until the room is bathed in a warm glow, not too bright, and then he finally lets himself have a good look at her.

She can feel herself blushing fiercely under his intense gaze, thrilled and excited to be receiving this kind of attention from him after fantasizing about it for so long. It makes her heart race, and when his eyes finally move up to meet hers, she understands just how much he enjoys what he sees. She returns the favor, her eyes trailing down the tight white shirt, the muted blue glow of the arc reactor, the outlines of his muscles, and - _oh, God_ - the prominent bulge in his boxer briefs.

Feeling bold, she closes the distance between them and threads a hand through his hair, pulling him into a more passionate kiss than before. She runs her other hand down his chest, his abs, and down lower to rub him, very slowly. He gasps and clutches at her, pulling her against him and making quick work of her bra clasp. He nearly rips it off of her before pressing his hands into her flesh and trailing kisses down her neck and along her collarbone.

They stumble toward the bed together, and she tugs his shirt away just as the backs of her legs hit the bed. Crawling backwards over the mattress, she drinks in the sight of him, the way his muscles flex as he bends forward to hook his fingers in her panties and pull them away. And then he strips away the last of his own clothes, and follows her until she lies back against the pillows.

He kisses her again, slowly, sweetly, and as she savors it, she wraps one leg around his hip to coax him down. But instead, he pulls back and kneels between her legs, stroking her stomach for a moment, considering. Then, with a little smile, he takes her hand, kisses the palm, and guides it down to her core. Her breath hitches a little in her throat at the sheer eroticism of what he's silently telling her to do, and with a deep breath, she begins to touch herself, showing him exactly what she likes. His hand squeezes her thigh rhythmically and his breathing becomes quick and ragged as he watches. He only lets it go on for a minute or so until he's learned what to do, and he pulls her hand away, tenderly licks her fingers, and shifts to lie between her legs.

She cries out softly when he kisses her, his tongue moving slowly, exactly as her fingers had before. Her muscles wind themselves tighter and tighter as he circles her, one hand threading tightly through his hair, the other grabbing handfuls of blanket desperately. Her quiet, occasional moans become his cues to slide his fingers inside her, to change his pace, to use more pressure, to hum lightly against her flesh.

As he kisses her, she feels a swell of emotion rise up through the haze of building pleasure. Her mind is barely coherent enough to be just a little shocked that this is actually happening, that Tony is actually making love to her right now, that he feels what she feels. Even stronger, though, is the happiness and excitement and gratitude for it all.

Her breathing speeds up in time with his tongue, and she writhes against the sheets, bucking slightly against because he's giving her _exactly_ what she needs. When he speeds up yet again and she's painfully close, she can barely catch her breath and she urges him on with her desperate cries. When she comes, her orgasm is strong and intense, pulsing through her until she falls limp against the bed.

---

The sound of her cries filling his head as she comes, the taste of her on his tongue, and the softness of her skin against his have him intoxicated with lust. He takes just a moment to focus himself, to tamp down his overwhelming desire and his need to be inside of her; he's still coherent enough to know that rushing won't do him any good. He also has the presence of mind to fish a condom out of the drawer before anything else, because he knows he won't be able to pull himself away from Pepper's body long enough to do it later.

He is away from her for mere seconds, but he already misses the warmth and feel of her when he returns to sink down on top of her. He holds her tight and kisses her neck and beautiful shoulders until she's able to open her eyes again and smile up at him. She pulls him down for a kiss, wrapping her arms and legs around him, enveloping his whole body with her own warm, soft one. He returns her affection in full, kissing and caressing, bucking against her almost unconsciously, until his hunger for her almost makes him lose control, and he has to pull away.

She smirks a little at this, at the way he pants above her, and she reaches over for the condom, tearing it open. She reaches down between them and wraps her delicate hands around him, and for a moment he thinks he wouldn't mind coming from her fingers on him alone. But instead she slides the condom on, and rubs one bent leg along his side and back in invitation. The look in her eyes is warm and intoxicating, and he slowly sinks himself into her with a deep groan of absolute pleasure.

He doesn't move for a moment, just savors the way she feels around him, hot and tight, and reveling in the fact that he _finally_ gets to experience it after so long. But Pepper soon grows restless, and rolls them over until he's lying against the pillows, and she can stretch out above him. She smiles at him, brushing a few strands of hair across his forehead as she studies him, and then she leans down for a kiss.

She starts to move then, while her tongue is still in his mouth, a simple, slow roll of her hips that drives him out of his mind. She repeats the motion, this time accentuating it by running her hands down his chest, tracing little patterns back and forth with her fingertips. She finds a slow, maddening rhythm with her body, and he runs his hands up and down the planes of her back, along her hips and legs and arms. She kisses lower, her lips brushing the rim of the reactor and moving down his chest.

She finally sits up, giving his hands and eyes access to the front of her body as she begins to move again, the change in position adding a whole new level of pleasure. He keeps touching her - that addictively soft skin - and just _looks_ at her, at her curves and pale skin and freckles that he's spent far too long imagining, that aren't quite what he'd ever expected but are still so beautiful. And he feels an immense relief because he can finally stop dreaming, hoping, pining away, and worrying that this could never be. And beneath it all, there's an overwhelming happiness that he hasn't felt in a long, long time.

She drives away any dark thoughts that are lingering in his mind with another roll of her hips, her muscles tightening around him and making him groan. She seems to move faster and faster every second, and he surges up, kissing her fiercely and holding her as tight as he possibly can. Her hands are everywhere, on his back and arms, running through his hair, and she never once stops moving

And then he reaches the point of no return, breaking away from the kiss and burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hissing through clenched teeth. She holds him in her surprisingly strong arms as he comes, hard, and when it finally passes and he's struggling to catch his breath, she gradually slows to a stop to bring him down gently. The scent of her skin fills his consciousness as he falls back against the pillows with her. He kisses her once more, and then he just holds her, listening to her breathe.

---

She wakes very slowly in the morning. She gradually becomes aware of the sensation of soft, warm sheets against her skin, the soft light filtering through the windows.

It takes a bit longer for the subtle, masculine scent to reach her, and for the sound of someone else's breathing too register. When someone shifts behind her, spoons close and drapes a strong arm over her waist, she remembers where she is, and why. Her immediate panic is far more automatic than real, and it disappears quickly and completely when a gentle kiss is pressed to her shoulder blade.

A feeling of warmth and happiness and contentment fills her, and she can't help but smile. "Merry Christmas."

Tony hums blissfully into her hair, and she can feel the little vibrations against her skin. He pulls her closer, holds tighter.

They stay that way for a long time - maybe an hour or more - slowly shifting from one position to the next, readjusting until they find comfort again. They don't speak yet. They only hold each other, and for the time being, that's enough.

Eventually, she finds herself with her head on his shoulder, her body draped alongside his as if he is a giant pillow. One finger slowly traces the rim of the arc reactor for a while, and eventually lays flat on top of it. "Feeling any better?"

"Much." She can hear the smile in his voice, and he leans down to kiss the top of her head. "Be kinda hard not to, though, all things considered."

She's more than a little surprised when she hears no suggestiveness in his voice, but only tender sincerity and affection. It's a welcome surprise, though, and she snuggles closer to him, into the warmth of his skin. He accepts her presence gladly. "So what do you think? Did you find something to make Christmas happy again?"

He tilts her head up, and leans forward to kiss her, so soft yet full of passion. "You could say that," he finally answers with a smile. "How 'bout you? Feeling a little Christmas spirit?"

She's not entirely sure what possesses her, but in a sudden bout of playfulness, she reaches down beneath the sheets to grope him. "Is that what you call him?" she teases, trying not to break down into hysterical laughter at the look his face. "Huh. I wouldn't have guessed that." Tony glares at her, trying to look menacing, but he can't hide his amusement and affection, and certainly not his arousal. She giggles, and kisses him very, very softly, because her answer is completely true. "Yeah," she whispers, settling back down against his chest. "I am."

They just hold each other for a little while, enjoying each other's presence.

"You can _keep_ feeling the Christmas spirit if you want to, you know."

She laughs, and pushes herself into a sitting position. "How about we get a little breakfast? Then maybe we'll have the energy to feel the Christmas spirit on the couch."

He returns her smile, although she doesn't think hers is quite so mischievous. "I guess I can work with that."

They untangle themselves from the sheets and stretch, and he fishes two soft old t-shirts and pairs of sweat pants out of his closet for them. They dress, head toward their respective bathrooms to brush their teeth, and meet up a few minutes later in the kitchen. They languidly pull things out of cabinets and drawers and the refrigerator, setting it all out, and as they wait for the coffee to brew, they find themselves wrapped in each other's arms again.

"You know, I was thinking, it's not too late to have a nice Christmas." She looks up at him, and smiles when she sees none of the sadness or pain that haunted him before. "Maybe we could wander around Central Park for a while, have a nice dinner, go ice skating."

"That could be fun," he muses, but then his eyes turn a bit more serious. "You know, Potts, I'm no expert, but doesn't Christmas usually involve gifts?"

She pulls back and studies him, considering her answer for a moment. When she decides, she gives him the most tender look she can. "How about I just tell you I love you? Will that do?"

One side of his mouth quirks up in a smile in that way that is so indescribably _adorable_. "I think I'd like that very much."

So she leans close, her lips just beside his ear. "I love you, Tony Stark."

He kisses her then, slowly, deeply, and with heartbreaking emotion in what she could rightly call the best kiss of her life. "And I love you, Pepper Potts," he whispers when he pulls away, and then he gives her that look again. And it's already the best Christmas she's had in many, many years.

They do make it off the couch, eventually, starving, panting and sweaty. But the coffee is stale by then.


End file.
